


What Has Been Seen

by skivvysupreme



Category: Glee
Genre: Humor, Light Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 20:51:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3910204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skivvysupreme/pseuds/skivvysupreme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As it goes, what has been seen can never be unseen. (AKA Sam walks in on Blaine's date night with Kurt. Maybe he should wear louder shoes.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Has Been Seen

Sam cradles his paper grocery bags in one arm, fumbling with the keys to his (and Mercedes’ and Blaine’s) apartment. He can’t wait to dump the bag on the kitchen counter, take his newest pint of Ben & Jerry’s to the couch, and settle down for another _Facts of Life_ binge. Blaine’s out on date night with Kurt, Mercedes is working at the studio, and his next photoshoot isn’t until tomorrow afternoon; it’s a perfect opportunity to stay up late following Mrs. Garrett and the girls’ wholesome lesbian adventures.

He finally gets the door open—nearly losing his beloved ice cream in the process as it tilts dangerously towards the edge of the bag—and immediately hears the sounds of porn.

Wait. What?

It doesn’t make sense. Nobody watches porn in the living room. But that growly, low-pitched moan? Wet, slapping noises? Rhythmically creaking furniture? What else could it be?

Sam’s face goes hot as a wild grin spreads wide across his face. He loves porn. It’s one of his favorite things, and something he’s spent more and more time with since he and Mercedes set the boundaries of their relationship. And if Blaine’s on a date with Kurt, who he gets to have sex with, like, all the time, he can’t be the one watching porn, so that means… his girlfriend got home early. His girlfriend got home early and she’s porning it up.

And what if she’s… what if she’s _enjoying herself_? Just because Mercedes never gets off with Sam doesn’t mean she never gets off, right? Oh, Jesus. Lord have _mercy_. If this is Sam’s reward for abstinence, he should have dedicated himself to sexual frustration a long time ago.

“Oh, fuck, you feel so good, always so good for me…”

Something happens to Sam’s brain when sex is involved. It gets abducted by his dick, or like, it just shorts out or something. He’ll tell himself, later, that this is why he didn’t recognize _that voice_ , that voice no one else has, that voice that always sounds like it’s singing. Even when the person using it is fucking, apparently.

Sam’s feet pick up speed, carrying him the short distance through the foyer in no time, and as he turns the corner—

Oh, no. This is not what Sam wanted at all.

Blaine, his eyes closed and his pink mouth dropped open, moaning, faces Sam. He’s completely naked—and that has to be his shirt, that pink polo on the floor next to a loose navy bowtie that’s so misshapen it looks like it was ripped from his neck. Blaine’s on his knees, back arched and ass high in the air, and he’s clutching the back of the couch so hard his knuckles are turning white. Behind him, gripping Blaine’s hips and kneading his thumbs into Blaine’s ass cheeks and swearing over and over, is Kurt, who’s still wearing all his clothes except for the dinner jacket draped carefully over one arm of the couch. His pants are open and pulled down on his hips just enough to let him fuck his fiancé, and that’s—oh, dear God, that’s his big, wet dick spreading Blaine’s ass open. Spreading his ass open _hard,_ Sam can tell, from the way Blaine keeps jolting forward. Blaine arches his back even more, tipping his ass higher. His hole is red where Kurt’s pounding into him. And Kurt can’t take his eyes off it.

Sam is frozen, unsure if he should try to clear his dry throat or knock a vase off the entry table to break glass in case of emergency or _what—_

“Please, I need—touch me?” Blaine rests his forehead against the back of the couch, between his fists, begging and whining.

“No,” Kurt grunts, closing his eyes too. “Come just like this, just from my dick. You can do that for me, can’t you, baby?”

“Yeah— _oh_ —yes. Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Sam chooses option C: pull a 180 and get the hell out of here.

Kurt and Blaine get louder, Blaine’s whines edging into wails and that slapping noise getting harsher and harsher, and Sam wouldn’t be so thankful for that if they weren’t covering the sounds of his hasty exit from the apartment.

Sam’s trembling and oddly overheated when he gets back out into the cool New York air. He puts his phone to his ear, dials _My-cedes_ , and treads swiftly down the stairs and onto the sidewalk.

“Hey, baby. I’m almost finished, we’re working one this last mix and then I’ll—”

“Don’t leave the studio! I just—wait for me, I’m coming—I , oh god, I mean, I’m on my way.”

*****

Blaine is so comfortable. He’s curled up on Kurt’s chest, between his legs, and they’re lying in their pajamas together under a cozy microfleece blanket. _The Incredibles_ (Blaine’s choice) plays on the living room TV, and the coffee table, pulled close so they can reach it without moving, holds a huge bowl of extra-buttery popcorn (also Blaine’s choice). Kurt’s rubbing slow, haphazard patterns between Blaine’s shoulders, his chest rising and falling slow and steady under Blaine’s cheek. He presses a kiss to Blaine’s forehead when Mr. Incredible bellows, “I can’t lose you again!” to Elastigirl, and tightens his arms around Blaine’s back.

Blaine hums, more content than he’s felt in months. He could fall asleep just like this, right here with Kurt. He lets his eyes close, and—

The front door opens, then slams shut. _“BLAINE!”_

“Hi, Mercedes!” Kurt calls, warily pleasant in his tone as Blaine jumps in his hold, eyes wide and confused when he instinctively curls closer.

She stomps into the living room, heels clicking like gunshots on the hardwood floor, and Sam follows behind her, his eyes rather determinedly glued to the ceiling as he carries a grocery bag into the kitchen. “Oh, hello, Kurt,” Mercedes says, her voice going sickly sweet and her dark eyes narrowing as she smiles at him. “What happened to date night? Your night _out?_ ”

“Oh, we did go out, but after dinner we were so tired, we just decided to come back and wind down. Just a quiet night together, you know. Watch a movie, get some movie snacks—“

“—AND DO THE NASTY ALL OVER MY VINTAGE SOFA?”

Mercedes screams it so loudly that Blaine is sure the brownstones on either side of them and across the street can hear what she’s said. He glances at Sam, who has just returned from the kitchen eating the last bits from a near-empty pint of ice cream. Sam wears the look of someone who has just witnessed a dog getting hit by a car, and suddenly, the dots connect.

Blaine’s stomach drops and he can hear Kurt just above him, whispering, “Oh…”

He pushes himself off Kurt’s chest and pulls him up off the couch, grabbing their bowl of popcorn and hugging it to his chest. “Mercedes, we’re just gonna… go up to my room, and…”

“You are not going any damn where! You have serious explaining to do!”

Kurt moves behind him, resting his hands on Blaine’s hips and tugging him along, shuffling them sideways like conjoined crabs. “Well! Looks like the movie’s over—“

“No, it’s not,” Sam mutters, mouth full of ice cream.

“—so Blaine and I are just gonna—”

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Mercedes yells. “If you wanted to knock boots in private, you should’ve done that two hours ago!”

Kurt goes still, glaring at Mercedes, and she stares back at him just as fiercely; it’s a battle of wills between two people who have known each other too long and too personally to give in to the other so quickly, and Blaine wants to duck to get out of the crossfire. He leans over and sits the popcorn bowl back on the table.

“Mercedes,” Kurt hisses through gritted teeth, “do not embarrass us. Please.”

“You embarrassed your own damn selves! Apparently, we need to set some house rules I didn’t think we needed to set, because they _should_ be common sense, except I didn’t know I was living with a nympho and his fiancé trying to get their _50 Shades of Grey_ on in my living room!”

“Oh, don’t you _dare_ try to shame us, especially not with that trash!”

“SIT YOUR SKINNY ASS DOWN, KURT HUMMEL!”

Blaine whimpers, and it’s only then that Kurt relents, squeezing once at Blaine’s hips before he purses his lips and sits back down on the couch. Blaine sits next to him, quiet when he laces their fingers between them, and looks up at Sam. He has discarded his pint of ice cream and glares at them in a frighteningly similar way to the night he lost his shit at Artie for having unsafe sex.

Mercedes circles around until she’s standing in front of them, Sam watching the scene quietly behind her. “And Blaine! You live here! We—” she gestures to herself and Sam, “—live here! Were you just gonna do the dirty on the couch where we _all_ hang out and act like nothing happened and then let us sit on it!? That is the worst roommate etiquette on the planet, y’all need Jesus, you _nasty_ —“

“We cleaned it so well, Mercedes, I swear!”

“So you—you actually jizzed on it?” Sam audibly shudders.

Kurt, a vicious glint in his eye, spits, “Did you think we never had sex on the couch at my loft? The one you slept on for three months?”

Sam’s horror is written all over his face. He makes an anguished, betrayed sort of noise and puts his hands on his stomach like he’s been stabbed, clenching his eyes shut.

“Kurt, please. They’re not the ones in the wrong, here,” Blaine says softly, unlacing their fingers to rub Kurt’s shoulder.

“I know, I do, I’m just…” Kurt takes a deep breath, placing a hand on Blaine’s knee to center himself, and says, “I’m sorry. I promise, we won’t do this again. This is your apartment, and I apologize for disturbing your space like this.”

“’Disturbing’ is right! Do you know Sam showed up at the studio like he’d lost his damn mind, shoving ice cream in his mouth, yelling ‘I saw Blaine’s asshole’ so loud I had to put him in the soundproof booth until he calmed his ass down?”

Kurt sucks his lips into his mouth trying not to smile as Blaine moans, “Mercedes, Sam, I… I am so, so sorry… We got back from dinner and we just… we were both so—we couldn’t wait, we couldn’t help ourselves. Can you just, um, maybe forget about this?”

Sam shakes his head, coming closer to sit on the coffee table. “I don’t know, bro. It kinda feels like I’ll never be the same.”

“I’ll be a better roommate, okay? And I’ll pay to get the couch reupholstered if it will help.” Blaine addresses this to both Sam and Mercedes, and his eyes are huge and round in that puppy-dog way that only Blaine can manage.

Mercedes sighs, the fight finally going out of her for the time being, and Sam nods. “Okay, dudes. We’re cool.”

Kurt reaches for Mercedes’ hand and pouts up at her. “Mercedes?”

She shakes her head and rolls her eyes, but she’s laughing as she squeezes his hand and says, “You’re a freak, Kurt Hummel. We gotta talk later.”

Kurt tosses his head and shrugs one shoulder, grinning crookedly. “If we must.”

“I’m going to bed, and I suggest you do the same. In Blaine’s room, not down here.” Mercedes turns to Sam and raises her eyebrows. “You coming?”

“I’m gonna stay down here a little longer, put the groceries away, watch some TV. I gotta—what is it, decompose?”

“Decompress,” Blaine corrects.

“Yeah, decompress. Go on,” Sam says, pecking Mercedes on the lips. She wishes them goodnight and heads upstairs.

After a long, awkward while, Sam says, “So… you like calling him ‘Sir?’”

Kurt lets out a deep, suffering sigh and Blaine groans, “Sam, _please_ …”

“Hey, no shame, man, everyone’s into different stuff, I’m just curious! I mean… like, do you think ‘Cedes would like it? If I called her ‘Ma’am?’”

Kurt flies off the couch, dragging Blaine behind him, and marches them out of the living room, muttering, “Never again, _never again…_ ”

Blaine looks back at Sam, mouths _We’ll talk later_ , and follows his fiancé up the stairs.

**Author's Note:**

> An anon on tumblr prompted: "Sam walks in on Kurt and Blaine doing real wanky stuff on Mercedes’ couch somewhere between 5x14 and 5x20 and they get lectured by the diva herself."


End file.
